


Living on the Brink

by mechanicaljewel



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Play, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Cock Slut, Coming Out, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mirror Sex, Movie: Skyfall (2012), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3199043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicaljewel/pseuds/mechanicaljewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond wants out of the spy game. Silva wants out of prison. How they help each other and how they celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living on the Brink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corruptedheroes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedheroes/gifts).



> My 2015 00Silva Gift Exchange present to AgentJamesSilva. 
> 
> You wanted fluff, you wanted Dom/sub undertones, you wanted Bond's internalized homophobia and first time, you wanted slutty!Bond. So I...sort of did all those things? Some of them are a little less trope-typical or more low-key, but mostly it's just porn. Hope you like!

In the five years since her death, when Silva had been brought back from the brink of his own, to be mined for his valuable information and skills in between suicide attempts, Bond had come to begrudgingly accept Silva as his strongest remaining link to her. And in spite of himself, the two began to share all other confidences, things neither of them talked about with anyone else, not even the MI6 psychologists. But it was understood between them: No one was better able to understand either of them than the other.

One night, Bond had shown up at his cell, bribing the night guard with a bottle of cheap whiskey to leave them alone. "I'm about ready to get out of this game," Bond said wearily.

Silva detected a weight behind those words few other people would have. Those words were the closest to a cry for help Bond would allow himself to have. And he was reaching out to him? Was he hoping for a suicide pact-- he was ready to die but didn't want to be alone? It seemed about Bond's style, he supposed. Barely admitting that he needed someone, even unto death. But no, he realized, not quite. Rather, Bond was leaving the decision up to Silva. And while Silva spent many a day lying in his cell fantasizing about his own death, he would be damned if he would be responsible for James's. 

"So when do we leave?" Silva asked matter-of-factly.

Bond looked back over his shoulder vaguely in the direction the night guard had wandered off to. "I doped the liquor, so it would be at least four hours before anybody might notice."

"That's enough time to be well on our way to Switzerland, at least," Silva commented.

"My thoughts exactly," Bond said with a kind of melancholy relief, drawing his set of keys to Silva's cell from his pocket. Those keys had been unauthorized from the beginning, no one knew Bond had them, leaving a thick layer of mystery on Silva's imminent escape.

As they sped through central London, dodging the light traffic one only found in the dead of night like this in Bond's Aston Martin DB-10, Silva murmured in awe, "James, you know I don't quite share your fetish for vehicles, but I think I want to have sex with this car."

"Wait until the tailpipe cools off," Bond deadpanned.

Silva grinned wickedly, "I'd settle for a quick shag in the back seat with someone else." 

"Well if you find anyone back there, clean up after yourselves."

Silva pouted. "You know, you should be grateful, I'm the reason you even got this car."

"Destroying a classic 1963 Aston doesn't get you credit for its replacement," Bond scoffed. But he darted his eyes across the dashboard and commented, "Even if it is one sexy piece of machinery. No time to stop I'm afraid, we've got to get through the Chunnel by daybreak."

In France, Silva thought he caught a glimpse of the suicidal urge again when they blew up the DB-10, rigging it in just such a way to obliterate the front seats while preserving the number plates, but Bond kept it together, even when they picked up a beat-up old Citroen to replace it.

Bond grimaced at every grumble and groan the Citroen made as they made their way down through the northeast of France into Switzerland. They made it to Lausanne by the afternoon, and having done its duty, the Citroen completely died. Checking into a hotel under some spare identities, they barely managed to take their shoes off before they fell into their bed fully clothed, both feeling more alive than either of them had in decades. When they awoke fourteen hours later the next morning, no words were needed to compel their bodies together. 

Silva slid his hands into Bond's jacket and began pushing it off as Bond pulled him in for a kiss. Bond rolled on top of him to facilitate its removal. Straddling Silva's hips, their hardening cocks rubbed together. Observing the hunger in Silva's eyes as he pulled his jacket off his shoulders then off entirely, Bond grinned. He began rocking his hips in a steady grind as he slowly began unbuttoning his shirt. Silva moaned in approval as the friction at his groin warmed him in more ways than one, the teasing reveal of Bond's magnificently sculpted chest icing on the cake.

"Remind you of something?" Bond asked smugly.

Silva chuckled and began rubbing his hands up and down Bond's thighs. "How could I ever forget? I almost straddled you right then and there. And I've brought myself off to the memory of these thighs more times than I can count."

"You'll have to show me what that looks like someday."

"If you don't fuck it out of me, I will"

"Hmm, we can't have that. Maybe we should stop..."

Silva's hands darted up and grabbed Bond by his shirt lapels. As Bond pitched forward, Silva slid his hands into his shirt and began rubbing his chest. "Or you'll just have to remind me some more," and he lifted his head to catch Bond's lips with his own.

Soon Bond's jacket and shirt were strewn carelessly on the floor, while Silva wriggled out of his khaki one-piece and discarded it with good riddance, a prisoner no longer-- neither of them were. If Silva were at all self-conscious about the scars that crisscrossed his body, he didn't let it show. He needn't be, of course. The longer Bond had been in the service, the more scars had grown a particular appeal for him. You had to respect a survivor, he thought as he felt the ridges of Silva's flesh under his fingers.

Silva reached down between them and began fumbling with Bond's fly, the fog of his arousal playing hell with his dexterity. Bond snorted in spite of himself. "Honestly James, if you had been taking proper care of me the past five years, I wouldn't be so out of practice," Silva said flippantly. "Never mind all the pre-existing nerve damage," he added darkly.

Bond kissed him apologetically and opened the fly himself, letting Silva push down his trousers and briefs. Silva broke the kiss to look down and moan appreciatively at what he saw before diving back on top of Bond, kissing him with the nigh-manic enthusiasm Bond so rarely saw in the man in captivity but was, if he was honest with himself, one of his most appealing qualities. Bond was the quintessential repressed Brit, and Silva _felt_ so deeply and openly. It was like a beautiful and intoxicating fire that he knew could wreak such destruction but he still felt so drawn to. He didn't even care that MI6's psychologists said it was the result of a personality disorder. Bond kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, gripping his hair, stroking his back, squeezing his arse cheeks. Silva broke the kiss, reached down, and drew one of Bond's hands to his mouth. He sucked sloppily on the index and middle finger for a few moments before returning it to his arse. "Finger me," he demanded, drawing up one knee to give Bond better access before going back to exploring Bond's mouth with his tongue.

Bond was taken aback by the blunt brazenness of the request, but he quickly complied. He leisurely began pumping his two fingers in and and out of Silva's arse. Silva moaned into Bond's mouth with gratitude at first, but after a minute or so, he groaned plaintively, "Come on James, stop teasing me."

"So eager for my cock already, are you?" Bond said cockily.

"No, not yet. Seriously, finger me properly would you? Instead of awkwardly poking around like a 15-year-old with his first--" Silva froze entirely for a moment before pulling back to look at Bond, eyes wide, "James, is this your first time with a man?"

Bond scowled. "Sex is sex, you don't have to make a thing about--"

"Mr. Bond, have I _turned_ you?" Silva asked with sheer delight dancing in his eyes and an insufferable smile spread across his face. "Or were all those women decoys? Are you finally ready to admit--"

"You like women too," Bond snapped.

"So I do, but I never avoided men. And in our line of work, you had to have deliberately avoided going to bed with men to have never done so."

"Or it just never occurred to me because it wasn't anything I wanted to do," Bond huffed defensively.

"But now you want to-- what's different, James? Do you find me that irresistible?"

Bond glared at Silva in silence for a good half a minute before he sighed and averted his eyes. "Don't pretend it was always easy for you. Don't pretend no one ever gave you shit, I know for a fact that's not true." Bond looked back defiantly at Silva only to be met by an intense yet soft look in his eyes, which made him feel more naked than he actually was.

"No," Silva said softly. "It wasn't always easy. It still isn't, sometimes"

"And it was easier--I mean, really fucking easy because women are gorgeous and almost all of the ones I've ever wanted were willing and eager--but now," he sighed. "I don't give a shit anymore. I'm a fugitive aiding and abetting a terrorist, one who killed--" he shook off that thought "--and as far as I can tell, I'm going to spend the rest of my life roaming the earth with you." He smirked at Silva. "And you have been gagging for my cock ever since we met, so why the fuck not?"

Silva chuckled and stroked Bond's hair before running his hand under Bond's chin. "And you are going to make my wildest dreams come true, is that it, lover boy? Rock my world your first time out, hmm?"

"Sex is sex," Bond said again self-assuredly. "I can still fuck your brains out."

"Hmm, we'll see about that," Silva murmured and started kissing his way from Bond's neck down his torso towards his groin.

"I can already tell you I am fantastic at this part," Bond said glibly. He looked down and met Silva's eyes as he looked up at Bond. Normally there was nothing hotter than making eye contact with a lover giving or about to give him head, but there was something vaguely unsettling in the way Silva looked back, like he was plotting something behind those lust-filled eyes. _Challenge accepted_ , Bond thought to himself.

Silva returned to working his way down Bond's abs, licking the outline of each individual muscle until he got to his navel, then trailed his tongue straight down to the base and continuing to the tip of his cock. He gave a big wet, pouty kiss to the head, exploring the sensitive knob of flesh with the delicate skin of his lips, occasionally darting out the tip of his tongue around the slit and the ridge.

Bond threw his head back and rested his hand on the top of Silva's head, while Silva slowly started taking Bond down his throat, wrapping his lips tight around his teeth and pressing them into a tight ring around Bond's shaft. Bond let out a gutteral sigh as he resisted the urge to start thrusting madly into that tight warm heat Silva had created just for him. And he was well-rewarded for his patience as Silva began pumping his head in a steady rhythm, tongue running up and down the thick, throbbing vein along the length of his cock. And when Silva pulled off to concentrate entirely on Bond's tip, teasing and lapping up the precome from his slit, Bond thought he might go completely mad. It took him a few moments to realize that when Silva pulled off entirely, he wasn't just breathing hot, heavy breaths on his cock, he was saying something.

"James, darling, come back to me. I want to show you something." When Bond looked down and the haze of delirium dissipated enough that Silva could tell he was conscious, he repeated, "I want to show you something," then stuck his first two fingers in his mouth, sucking on them suggestively, just as he had with Bond's fingers earlier. "You want to put your knees up for me?" Though Bond's first instinct was to say no, he _was_ curious what Silva had wanted, and he told himself it would be easier for the future to accept this practical demonstration, just this onc,e so he could fully understand what Silva was asking for the next time he did. So he placed his feet flat on the bed and tilted his hips back to give Silva better access.

Silva slowly began sliding one finger inside him, but Bond's instinct to clamp down impeded the process. "Relax," Silva murmured. "You need to relax." Bond nodded and did his best while Silva tried again with both fingers. It felt...strange. Not bad, just alien. He was about to express doubt at the whole endeavour when Silva suddenly hooked his fingers forward and began rubbing at, oh god, _something_ inside him. It felt absolutely wonderful. He looked down at Silva to see him smiling back wickedly. 

"What are you going to do to me now?" Bond asked, words slurring slightly in pleasure.

Silva let the question hang there silently for a few moments before wrapping his lips back around Bond's cock, bobbing his head quickly, now working him from the inside as well as out.

"Oh _god,"_ Bond moaned. Shit, he was a lot closer now than he expected to be. _Really_  close. "Silva," he gasped. "I'm going to--wait--I can't--st--" The word broke off into a keening cry as he gushed into Silva's mouth, who swallowed it all greedily.

As he came down, he lay there gasping while Silva gazed on smugly. Bond caught his eye and breathed, "Bastard."

Silva rolled his eyes. "You're welcome."

Bond swallowed hard. "No, it was-- god _damn_ I needed that. But now I can't, I mean, it will take me a little while to be ready..."

"I'm ready," Silva said, a slight edge to his voice.

Bond looked at Silva like a deer caught in headlights. "You must be joking."

"You said you were going to make my wildest dreams come true, no? And sex is sex, yes?" 

Bond gritted his teeth and stared back at Silva for a few moments before realizing that he felt more vulnerable the longer he hesitated than he felt about-- what Silva had in mind. _Goddammit_ , he thought to himself. _What difference does it make after what you just did? Get over it, isn't that the point of this?_ He took a deep breath and turned over, lifting himself on to his hands and knees. 

Silva placed his hands, warm and heavy, on each of Bond's cheeks and massaged them in firm gentle strokes and groaned appreciatively. He leaned forward, running his hands up Bond's sides as he went, and curved his body flush against Bond's. Then he slid his hands down Bond's arms, bringing his hands to rest on top of Bond's. Every possible inch of skin between them now touched. Silva nuzzled Bond's neck, lazily peppering it with light kisses while his cock slid gently between Bond's arse cheeks. 

To his surprise, Bond felt all tension and trepidation completely disperse from his body. This was (not loving he wouldn't dare think about loving) comforting. Completely encased by Silva's own body, a silent promise was exchanged, _I know what you need, I know it better than you do, I'm going to give it to you while I take my pleasure from you. You just have to let me..._  Of course, Bond was well aware of his predilection for women who took control, it shouldn't have surprised him that it was the same with men, but it did.

Christ, if he'd known getting over these hang-ups would be that easy he would have done it years ago.

He curved his back to press further into Silva's abdomen, and he rocked slightly to brush his arse up and down Silva's cock. Silva let out a gutteral hum which turned into a murmur in Bond's ear, "Yes, that's better isn't it. I'm going to take such good care of you, James." Twenty-four hours ago, the shiver of anticipation that ran up his spine at those words would have been inconceivable. But his life had never been that predictable anyway, and with every passing moment, every joule of heat that passed between their flesh, Bond let more and more of his old self go.

Silva lifted himself of Bond and placed a hand firmly on his back in between his shoulder blades. Bond complied and dropped his arms, leaving his arse sticking up in the air. Silva settled himself between Bond's legs, massaging his cheeks again, this time spreading them open. Bond took a deep breath as Silva pressed his tongue to his hole. As it worked him open, he found himself burying his face in his arms to stifle moans of pleasure. 

After a minute or so, Silva pulled back and murmured, "I'll be right back. Don't move a muscle," before giving a big, smacking kiss to Bond's left cheek. Bond heard his footsteps pad off in the direction of the bathroom and he waited, arse in the air as requested, until Silva returned. "Ooh Mr. Bond," Silva exclaimed throatily. "Promise me you'll greet me like this often. I want to come back from being out somewhere and finding you like this, presenting yourself to me."

Bond lifted his head from his arms. "Show me it'll be worth it first," he retorted.

Silva chuckled as he knelt back on the bed behind Bond. "Oh trust me, you won't want to do anything else when I'm through with you." Bond heard the distinctive click of a bottle being open and the squirt of lotion. "This will have to do," Silva commented. "It's all organic, so it should be alright."

"I have only the faintest idea what you are talking about."

Silva laughed as he rubbed the lotion between his hands to warm it. "I do envy you skipping some of the misguided teenage experimentation I subjected myself to." He grasped his cock with one hand and coated it with the lotion, then rubbed two slicked up fingers around the outside Bond's hole _(lovingly_ came to mind but no it wasn't, couldn't be that) before sliding them inside. "Is that alright?" Silva asked as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out, slicking up inside Bond the best he could.

"Mmhmm," Bond grunted in the affirmative. It felt _nice,_ now that he was being honest with himself.

"Good," Silva murmured. He removed his fingers and then pressed the blunt tip of his cock to Bond's hole. "Tell me if it hurts, if you need me to go slower," he said, and Bond nodded as best he could with his head pressed to the mattress. Silva pressed forward carefully and Bond let out a long meditative breath to get himself to relax. And despite the greater length and girth, he found it easier than taking Silva's fingers that first time. He flushed with an odd sort of pride.

Soon he felt Silva pressed up against him, fully inside him. Silva leaned over him again and whispered, "Does that feel good?" This time, it was rhetorical. He knew, he could tell that it did. "It looks so nice. Has anyone ever told you you have a cute arse?" ( _Actually, yes,_ Bond thought to himself) "I love seeing my cock inside such a cute arse. And it fits so beautifully, don't you think?"

Bond had the horrifying suspicion that he was blushing. "Are you going to write bad poetry about my arse or are you going to fuck me already?"

Silva laughed, "Now who's gagging for whose cock, hm?" He pressed a kiss to Bond's shoulder blade. "Such a transformation, James. You went from uptight butch heterosexual to hungry cock-slut in about 20 minutes. That has to be some kind of record." Before Bond could counter, Silva snapped his hips, and still sensitive from the blowjob, Bond groaned in ecstasy. "Music to my ears," Silva sang. "And you know what..." 

Before Bond could wonder why Silva had trailed off, he felt arms around his torso, pulling him upright. Next thing he knew, he was sitting on Silva's lap, cock still pressed deep inside him. It didn't take long to figure out why Silva had shifted their position. There was a big mirror just to the right of the bed, and now they were looking at themselves joined together, Bond's knees on either side of Silva's, the man himself peering just over Bond's shoulder with a radiant smile on his face. "Look at us, James. Look at _you_ , so strong, so proud," Silva mused. "So full of cock." Bond snorted. "Where have you been hiding this man, James?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "But he's not going back there." 

Silva pressed a kiss to his temple, a kiss that had nothing to do with sex. "And what does he want?"

Gazing at their reflection, Bond's mind began filling with images (and sounds and touches) of where they could go from here. A wave of heat washed over him and his cock twitched as it began hardening again. "Fuck me," he demanded. "Fuck me hard and come inside me. Show me what I've been missing." He could feel Silva's heartbeat grow faster on his back as he spoke. He grinned inwardly at the effect he had on the man and, catching his eye in the mirror, began to slowly and deliberately roll his hips. Feeling Silva's cock sliding inside of him and watching his eyes flutter in the mirror just made Bond want to show off more. Reaching down, Bond grasped his cock, and before he could make a single stroke of his hand, Silva moaned so loudly Bond felt it rumble through his back. He chuckled smugly and began stroking himself as he continued to ride Silva's cock.

Silva's hands moved to grip Bond's hips. "You cocky little minx," he chided. Bond laughed, oddly proud of his new title, but the smile faded into a groan as Silva began meeting Bond's movements, thrusting rapidly upwards. It was his turn to be smug as Bond's head fell back and he began losing his grip on his own cock. "Come on James, I want to see you bring yourself off. Show me how you come. I already know what it tastes like but--" Bond cut him him off with an even louder moan and he started thrusting harder and faster into his fist. Silva had to work to keep up with Bond's pace, but not for very long. Bond gave a great grunting cry as he spilled over his own hand. And with the last jerks and spasms of his arse, Silva soon followed, biting Bond's shoulder as he filled him with seed.

Now both thoroughly wrung out, they managed one last look in the mirror. "Look at those handsome fuckers," Bond commented.

Silva chuckled. "No woman or man on earth is safe from their ravenous libidos, hm?"

"Yeah," Bond replied, nodding lazily as he climbed off of Silva's lap, feeling strangely empty without his cock inside him. "C'mon," he said drowsily, lifting up the duvet and gesturing for Silva to follow as he slid under it. They lay down face-to-face, arms draped over the other and legs entwining.

In between light, lazy kisses they gave wherever they could reach, Silva mused, "And to think I fell for your bluff all those years ago. I actually believed you had some experience in this  _particular_ area. No wonder they sent you to play against Le Chiffre."

"Ugh, my balls are too sensitive right now for you to bring that up." Silva kissed him apologetically along his jawline. "Anyway, it was true enough, I did go to boarding school and served in the Navy, after all. But you were after more than a handjob just now..."

"No, but consider my interest piqued for next time," Silva murmured as they drifted off into the blissful haze of a post-orgasmic nap.


End file.
